Just To Water The Flowers
by myfoodisnotshared
Summary: Draco is odd, Luna thinks, but she can forgive him for that. After all, he may have been a Death Eater and he may sulk when he loses a chess match against himself, but he has a precious talent. He can tell when Luna is losing it, and she needs that right now.
1. In Which Luna Is Wrong And Draco Is Kind

**Summary: Draco is odd, Luna thinks, but she can forgive him for that. After all, he may have been a Death Eater and he may get grumpy with inanimate objects, but he has a precious talent. He can tell when Luna is losing it, and she needs that right now.**

 **Disclaimer: Sadly, living in Edinburgh and having ideas on trains does not make me J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

"You grew flowers, in my cellar, and I never thanked you for it."

It was the first thing he said to her, after the war, awkwardly. Everything about their conversation was awkward on his part - trying to find her in the Great Hall, trying to remember the words he meticulously prepared, trying to hear her reply without leaning in too close. After all, no-one wanted a Death Eater within touching distance. She smiled, that big honest smile, and he caught a few phrases of what she said in response.

"I like flowers… They weren't too hard to grow… The Mesties did most of the work… I was so happy to give them a home…" Though he didn't hear most of it, the Great Hall was so bloody loud, Draco knew he wouldn't understand her words anyway. What he understood was that with barely anything to eat or drink and no chance of escape, little Luna Lovegood had spared some of her water every day to keeping those plants alive. He had never seen anything so pretty, when he found them the day after Harry's grand breakout.

"I still have them, you know," he said nervously, "in the cellar, on the window sill. They've grown quite high."

Luna stepped closer, into his space, so close one could imagine she was about to kiss him. "Do you? Are they in the colours of the four houses, because the Mesties promised they'd try but it's not very easy to make a green and silver flower, is it?"

"Uh, just about," he said, distracted - distracted by the blood clotted on one side of her head, staining her fair, straw like hair. "Luna, were you hurt? Because there's a patch of blood - I can't see how I didn't notice before -"

"Oh, that, yes one of the Death Eaters cast a blasting spell, I went right over. The wall was kind enough to pull me through afterwards, but it was rather a nasty knock." She blinked slowly, as though enjoying the sensation.

"And why couldn't I see it before?" Draco asked, instinctively reaching out to check the wound wasn't too large or deep, then dropping his hand. Few of the winning side had wanted him to make it through this battle, and the people nearby who had been discreetly staring were now openly glaring. "That's a pretty bad wound, you should get it checked out."

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes telling him to glance at the medical station set up at the front of the hall. To say it was busy was an understatement. "I shouldn't faint, at least for another few hours," she said, perfectly tranquil. "So I don't see why I should sit there when I can sit here. Don't you think a bench is more comfortable than stone steps?"

"Yes, of course, but-" He sighed in frustration; there was clearly no point arguing. That dreamless expression was coming over her face, the one he recognised from school, and if comparing her to a diseased rodent hadn't gotten a rise from her, calm protests never would. "Look, I know you can't go home, because your home was destroyed. Where are you going to stay?"

She shrugged, clearly unworried. "I don't know. But it seems I have lots of friends, so I think one of them will take me in."

 _Maybe. But your loyal, brave friends have never been very good at remembering you, have they?_ He struggled with himself for a moment, debating what to say, what the right thing to do was. Words had always come easily between him and Luna, but that didn't mean they were the rights ones. He relented to his instincts though. "Well, do you want to stay with me? At Malfoy Manor?"

She stared at him in shock, blinking rapidly now. For a moment, she stopped floating and crashed back to earth, was normal in her surprise, couldn't quite get why he had asked her - he didn't know why he'd asked her - and her thoughts were clear in her silver-grey eyes. "I - I don't think so, Draco, my friends would be-" She couldn't say it.

"Angry." She sounded so uncertain, so upset. "I won't be there - we both know I'm going to be arrested soon, I accept that. But what about the flowers, Luna? Someone has to water the flowers."

This logic saved her - this was logic she could understand. That he was dangerous and an enemy and that her friends wouldn't like it was all one thing, but the home of the Mesties was another.

"Okay, okay. Just to water the flowers." And then she touched her head, blinked woozily, and stumbled - unconscious - into his arms.

* * *

When Luna woke, there was rather too much light and not enough air. The lack of oxygen bothered her little, since childhood she'd never been quite able to balance her breathing, but the lights were a real nuisance. She screwed up her eyes and grimaced - her mouth, she had just realised, tasted like wood chips - and she did a quick mental check of her limbs.

Good, all there, and her toes wiggled joyously. She had a rather odd fear of being an amputee, and she liked to check in the mornings, and sometimes during class and while brushing her teeth, that she was still as fruitful in limbs as before.

Having established that she had to be in a hospital of some kind, unless Fleur had again decided to disinfect the whole cottage, Luna opened her eyes. Ah yes, the sign for St Mungo's was displayed quite clearly, and she had little reason to believe it was a trap. The guards of her cell had done that a few times, pretended to let her escape so they could drag her back, or taking her into the big hall to make her run and run whilst they watched and laughed... But this was a place she knew well. Her mother had died here, in a single bed room. She had thought she recognised the smell of the disinfectant.

Most of the other patients were sleeping, though a few were talking in low voices to visitors, and one exhausted looking nurse was changing the bandages of a young man with blistered, scorched skin. Luna waited for her to finish, then gestured her over.

"I'd like to leave now, please," she said, trying to be authoritative but mostly just sounding young. "I can care for myself at home."

The nurse's half-focused eyes did a single sweep of her body, then flicked over her charts, then she nodded. "Will someone pick you up, dear? You've had no visitors yet."

"No, I'll floo," she said firmly for once, twisting her legs and pushing out of the bed. "Are there any forms to fill in?"

The nurse laughed, though the sound was weak and breathless. "Pick yourself up a couple from front desk, if you like, but don't trying handing 'em in. Give it a week, then send them by owl. Gosh, never thought I'd say Mungo's was more interested in patients than forms."

Luna agreed at once that was the best plan, then helped the nurse to scourgify the bedding for another patient. Once done, she gathered her things - which consisted of her cloak, a few bottle of potions she wouldn't take and her wand - then she headed out to the reception, concentrating very hard on not seeming like the wreck she was.

The atrium was a mess of crowds pressing close together to shout and exchange rumours, and untreated patients huddled in chairs. It seemed she'd slept the night, for the morning sun was streaming through the windows and the Prophet was being eagerly clutched by many of the conscious witches and wizards around.

"Excuse me," she asked when she came upon one witch clutching the paper with both hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Could I share that paper with you?" Normally Luna wouldn't have asked such a thing of a stranger, as most people seemed to find sharing to be an odd notion, but today it seemed the rules of everyday life had become muddled and forgotten.

"Of course!" The lady said, taking the bumblebee-shaped handkerchief Luna offered. "My goodness, I can't believe it's over at last. My husband - he's muggleborn, he had to flee the country - my goodness, he can come home!"

Luna smiled warmly at her, and peered at the front page. _VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED BY THE CHOSEN ONE, SHACKLEBOLT MADE MINISTER_ took up half of the cover, and the rest was details of the battle, mostly incorrect. On the next page they had at least had the decency to warn that information was hard to come by, above a list of all those captured, killed or missing. Finally she found what she was looking for, though not quite in the form she expected.

 _CHOSEN ONE PROTECTS DEATH EATERS - shortly after the battle, wanted Death Eaters Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy as well as their son Draco Malfoy were arrested without protest, though one most unusual event occurred. Harry Potter, who had just hours before defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sent word with a house-elf that he wanted the three prisoners "not treated like animals, if you don't mind". When asked to comment as to what they'd done to deserve the forgiveness of the Wizarding World's Saviour, Mr Malfoy had replied that "he's not a bloody God, in the name of Merlin, he defeated the Dark Lord with a first year spell." When it was pointed out that Mr Malfoy had willingly called you-know-who the Dark Lord, he refused to comment._

Luna smiled thinly, and passed the paper back to the woman. She had read enough - if Draco had truly been arrested, then it fell to her to water their flowers. Hurriedly she pressed through the crowds, keeping her head down in case someone recognised her (after all, the Daily Prophet had listed her as killed in the battle) and joining the back of the queue for the fireplaces. It was a truly odd thing, that though all of the rest of the hospital was in a state of unabashed chaos, British wizards still kept order at queueing stations.

In time she reached the front, and nervously she grasped a handful of the floo powder - free, in a desperate attempt to get people to leave - before throwing it in the fire. What would happen if there were Death Eaters at the Manor, if Draco had some kind of cruel wish to see her suffer? Surely he wasn't trying to trap her, didn't blame her for whatever he suffered for allowing Harry Potter to escape? Her thoughts, so rarely dark, clouded in on her. She could picture no worse fate than walking back into that basement, finding the flowers dead and hearing the door lock shut behind her…

 _No, Luna,_ she told herself sharply. _Draco is good. Trust Draco._

She stepped into the flames, and turned to face the watching queue. Gosh, this was going to send the rumours flying. "Malfoy Manor!" She called, and no sooner had she registered the shock, even horror on her fellow witches and wizards faces, she was hurtling up the chimney. Gates flew past her at dizzying speed, till at last she tumbled to a stop and allowed herself to be thrown out of the flames, graceless and fumbling, landing on her knees.

For a moment, there was a silence. Then came a voice that was undeniably Malfoy-ish, so prim and proper and slimy. "Oh dear me… I see the manners of the low-born _still_ haven't improved," said an ancient, white-haired man in a portrait, his rather large behind resting on an even larger cushioned chair. The likeness to her own maternal grandfather was striking. "And who are you to visit the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy _when there is no-one here to greet you?"_

Luna struggled to her feet, still woozy from her recent fainting spell. "I'm Luna Lovegood, sir, I was invited here by Draco Malfoy," she said, giving the painted man a cheerful smile he didn't reply to. Instead, he gave her a hard, mildly disgusted stare.

"Young lady, are you not aware of the indignity of visiting a house when the occupants are not at home? It is unfathomable. I bid you leave at once, and call back when the Master, or at least the Mistress of this house is in residence. And make sure to dress more appropriately too!" His sharp look at her jinx-torn jeans wasn't appreciative.

She smiled again, but this time it was the shallow smile of a girl used to being insulted and degraded. "I'm sorry sir, but none of the Malfoy's will _be_ in residence for quite a while, I'm afraid. I'm living here until their return though, and don't worry, I won't let you get lonely." With that, Luna strode straight past the floundering, red-faced portrait and pushed open the door, letting it fall shut with a _click_ behind her.

The entrance hall was lavish, and clearly worth a fortune, and completely and utterly destroyed.

Luna froze by the door, staring in horror at the way it seemed to have been bulldozed by destructive magic. The ceiling was cracked, a huge tapestry of a unicorn blessing torn, and several of the statues were making small whimpering noises on the floor, or at least the chunks of them with the mouthpiece were. Half of a giant chandelier still hung from the roof - the rest was shattered glass on the marble floor.

"Merlin's pants," was all Luna could say, whispering - for the whole house gave off the distinct feeling of being haunted, or some kind of ancient ruin. Fumbling she pulled out her wand, and twice cast a _Homenum Revelio_ \- but she was alone. There was not a single person in the whole of Malfoy Manor.

Thank Merlin.

Now to get on with the task in hand.

* * *

The flowers had grown to be exceptional.

They had started as small seedlings she had had in her pocket when she was captured, but had flourished to be so large they were overflowing off of the window sill - the light was artificial, a magical trick like the one used at the Ministry, but it was enough to sustain them. When Luna saw them again, she had wanted to cry they were so beautiful, their petals alternating in the different house colours - the red and gold of Gryffindor, the yellow and black of Hufflepuff… Sure, the effect wasn't perfect and yes, a few of the flowers seemed to have become confused and paired blue and green together, but it was still wonderful. And more than anything, it reminded her of her one true home.

She had watered them and - so, so carefully, levitated them off the window sill. It was time to take them out of the basement, and hopefully, it was time for her to leave the basement and never, ever come back. (Blasting the doors off of their frames had been fun, but blasting the whole room into pieces would be even better.)

Slowly, her eyes watering with the effort of a continued levitation - never her strongest skill - Luna took the flowers and placed them right in the middle of the entrance chamber, clearing some glass out of the way with her foot. There - the sun streamed in from a shattered glass window, and the Mesties buzzed quietly with excitement. Smiling widely, Luna bent down to speak with them.

"Are you okay there, guys?" She asked, listening closely to their high pitched tones. Mesties were like a magical version of soil, and her father had told her all about how to talk with them. Apparently, they loved their new spot, had been getting quite cramped earlier and were very grateful. She accepted their wishes for good sun on her leaves and stood up, brushing the dust from her knees.

Now, to find somewhere she could put down her things, hopefully before she collapsed again. No need to tell anyone a stunning spell had glanced off her during the battle - everyone knew most patients got better by themselves within a few weeks, if that. The others… Well, there was no need to think too much about that.

Luna hummed a few bars of _Weasley is Our King_ under her breath, and wandered through a few more of the Malfoy rooms. Destruction, destruction, and total and utter nothingness. In some rooms, it was clear someone had had a temper tantrum - in others, blood stained the walls and she quickly closed the door. Finally she found a painting where the occupant wasn't too scared or too uptight to talk to her, and she was given directions to one of the upstairs rooms. Left, left, straight ahead… She pushed open an ornate and rather disgustingly decorated door, and sighed to see an untouched room… With a bed and a writing desk.

 _At last._ She collapsed on the large mattress - she was so going to bounce on this bed later - and summoned the parchment to her. She had so many urgent letters to write, but first…

 _Dear dad,_

 _I know we haven't spoken or seen each other for a long time, and that a lot has happened. I'm fine, completely unhurt, and I love you very much and would never blame you for anything._ Luna paused - was that right? That seemed to suggest she did blame him… No matter, it wasn't like her father to pick at words. _I heard about our house - do you have somewhere to live, are you hurt? I'm currently staying with a friend, but you would be more than welcome to join me. His house was quite destroyed by Death Eaters, but no matter, I'm sure I can fix a bit of it at least, to make it habitable._

 _The battle was quite scary, but I'm fine now, and the War is over. I hope I can see you soon._

 _All my love dad!_

 _Luna Lovegood._

 _P.S. My friend's house has Mesties, dad, and they're so friendly! I can't wait to see how much I can learn about herbology from them, I knew you were right when you said the Wizarding World undervalued their gardening knowledge._

Her letter written, Luna rolled the scroll up and sealed it with her wand, an old habit now. She missed her father terribly - he was so wonderfully smart, but she always got the feeling he got quite lonely without her. Most people just didn't understand how wise he was, because they were too caught up in the Great Culture Plot one of the Quibbler's writers had uncovered. It was a real shame, but not one she could deal with in that moment.

She instead began writing little notes to everyone she could think of, to tell them she was quite all right, and one to cancel her own funeral. Though she would quite have liked to see it go ahead, she wasn't a rich girl and goodness knows what the bill would be like. Only when the sunlight had reached the very tip of her arched window did Luna turn to the most and least pressing letter of all.

 _Dear Draco,_

 _The Mesties are great, and your home is beautiful, though a little unusual in decor. What's with the snakeskin on the big wooden table? Not that I mind feeding a snake, but I haven't quite found him or her yet and it's a little unnerving._

 _Are you in Azkaban? Because I would have thought they wouldn't trust the Dementors anymore, but I don't know who else could guard you. If you're allowed visitors, do tell me, I'd like to talk to you again. I was thinking some of the broken furniture could be repaired, but I don't want to cause any offense. And I'm pretty sure most of the statues wouldn't let me anyway. Are they always this bad-mouthed? I have a clay figurine of my great-great-great grandmother at home, and she always talked posh, but she was still quite nice._

 _I hope you don't mind me raiding your larder, if I can find it that is. What a maze this manor is!_

 _Don't worry, and stay strong. You're going to be just fine._

 _Luna Lovegood_

Quickly she rolled up the parchment, smearing the ink, and sealed it. She didn't want to think too hard about it - people were always harder for her than she let on, but not Draco. Writing to Draco was easy, friendly, effortless.

Warm. It felt like being wrapped in a blanket, an extra layer of comfort. Not something she would be telling the others about anytime soon.

Smiling from the corners of her mouth - because she was safe, at last, _safe_ \- Luna took her letters, and went in search of the owlery. Soon, she assured herself, her new friend and maybe even her dad would be with her again.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi guys! I uploaded this a million years ago and then abandoned it, thinking it was no good. But rereading it, I'm actually quite proud of it, so I'm going to be updating hopefully every week from now on.**


	2. In Which Friendships Are Made And Broken

**Recap: Luna has been invited to look after the flowers in the destroyed Malfoy Manor, and the Malfoys have been arrested.**

* * *

The best thing about Malfoy Manor was the carpets.

Okay, so a few were scorched black in places and the paintings kept complaining when she napped on them, but Luna was in love. They were plush and rich and snuggly in all the right ways, and propped up on a few cushions, she was as comfy as could be. She had pulled a few books from the library on repairing spells and was stretched out on a particularly nice part of the floor, flicking through the pages and taking notes. Sir Wilfred Malfoy the Lost had given up his grumblings a while ago, and had thankfully disappeared to complain to another portrait.

Luna copied down the wand movements for a particularly useful charm for removing stains from upholstery, and yawned. It had been a while seen she'd learnt new magic - even before she was taken from the Hogwarts Express, there hadn't been much teaching going on. Even her Head of House, Professor Flitwick, had spent more time consoling students and discreetly handing out various balms and potions than preparing them for their NEWTs. And Luna loved to learn, loved the feel of old pages between her fingers and old ink written by wizards and witches before her. The last few days had been a form of heaven for her, exploring the manor and perfecting her _reparo_ charm.

Leaving her books on the floor, Luna stood and stretched. Malfoy Manor was huge, and with a weary sigh, she set off for the kitchens. Really, why the Malfoys needed such a big house was beyond her, and every trip to get food meant a long trek. She sang to herself as she skipped round fallen statues, and briefly considered sliding down the banister, except… well, she was quickly learning to be cautious in this old house. She had tried to open a chest of drawers the other day, only for the chest to hurtle away and cower in the corner. Opening the curtains had proved far more dangerous - they had tried to shove her out the window. Who knew what objections the banisters would have to being touched.

She smiled as she opened the doors to the kitchens, the old wood and hanging pots radiating a homely, if empty feel. Here, at least, nothing had tried to bite her - yet.

She crossed to the stove and lit the gas, before summoning some soup and rolls out of the larder, ever grateful for the Malfoy's preserving charms. There would be a time for shopping and visiting Diagon Alley and returning to the world… But not yet. She had been in Malfoy Manor two days, yet it still felt like they were just getting acquainted, and that if she left for even a moment, the whole house could morph into something different.

She turned to start her washing up, left in the sink since her morning's fried egg sandwich, and stopped. It was gone, leaving spotless surfaces. Luna frowned - she was quite sure she hadn't washed up yet, but the plates were inexplicably gone, or more accurately when she checked the cupboard, returned to their places.

How odd, she thought, glancing around the kitchen. She hadn't detected any self-clearing spells, and they certainly hadn't been working earlier.

She cast _homus revelio_ again, and again it came back empty. Luna tapped her wand against her leg, jumping a little when there was a cascade of red sparks. She cast a revealing charm at the sink, and a few words floated into the air - apparently a few Malfoys over the generations had cast limescale blocking spells, but that was about it.

"Oh!" Luna cried, and she hit her forehead at having been so oblivious. Of course, now it was all quite clear. What creature could avoid detection spells, because their very beings were designed to be quiet and out of the way? She had always wondered why the kitchens showed up as empty on Harry's Marauder's Map.

She glanced round the kitchen, quite at a loss as to what to do. Normally, she would leave a creature that didn't wish to be disturbed to itself, but she felt a little obligated to make their acquaintance. They had, after all, done her washing up.

"Hello?" She called again. "I'm Luna, I'm here to look after the place whilst the Malfoy's are away." What else was relevant? "You might have met me here before, I was in the dungeons for a while. I'm a Puddlemore fan in Quidditch, I don't know how to apparate, I like to eat sauerkraut…" She listed a few more interesting facts, and then waited in the silence.

"I won't hurt you," she said softly as the silence lengthened, and she slowly knelt and rolled her wand along the floor. It went against every instinct to do it, but she knew she had made the right move when there was a sudden shuffling sound in the cupboard under the sink. Luna glanced at it, but made no move to open it.

Very slowly, it creaked open, and a single giant blue eye appeared. She smiled tentatively at it, and it was followed by tufted white hair and slightly sagging ears. "Could ma'am… could ma'am pass a teatowel?" The creature croaked, it's voice sounding very dry and unused.

Luna did as she was asked, selecting the most colourful one that showed different breeds of sheep. She took out a glass and filled it with water, and slid it to the house elf as well. The elf took the tea towel and vanished into the cupboard, before emerging again, now garbed in the usual toga style.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and then glanced doubtfully at the water. After a movement, he reached out with both shaking hands and held it to his lips.

"I'm Luna," she repeated, "what's your name?"

"Beetroot, ma'am," he said, sipping on the water. Luna took in his thin, worn, jumpy appearance, and the vivid red lines that marred his balding head. He had a deep voice for a house elf, and was slightly smaller than most, though that may have just been his hunched posture.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Beetroot," she said, careful not to lay it on too thick. Luna had had many conversations with the house elves at Hogwarts, and she visited them more for their company and good natures than for food. She knew they took a great deal of pride in their appearance, and to be found naked and shivering in a cupboard…

She decided not to thank Beetroot for doing the washing up. To thank him for such a little thing would be to assume he gave a low level of service, a deadly insult if she had ever heard one. "Have you heard the news about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" She asked, and he gave a little shake of his head.

"Oh, well he's fallen you see," she said cheerfully, "so we can all stop being afraid of him. There was a great battle at Hogwarts a few days ago and Harry Potter did some sort of sacrificing thing… He was definitely dead for a while, I just know it. But then he came back to life and dueled you-know-who, and then most of the Death Eaters ran or died or were caught. All the Malfoys have gone to prison, but I don't think they'll be staying there for too long. I hope not, anyway."

For the first time it occurred to her that that was not strictly true. She didn't want Draco to be in prison, because he didn't deserve it - it would be like beating a Crup that had been brought up to be vicious. He was no more naturally evil than a Flobberworm was naturally intelligent. But Mr and Mrs Malfoy… She could still hear their voices echoing through the corridors. She could not forget that they had given their home to you-know-who, and he had made it her prison.

"I… I… " And suddenly the house elf began to shake all over. He did not cry and he did not hit himself, but he threw his hands around and shook his head violently, as though in some sort of absurd dance. "I am a bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf! Bad elf!"

"No, no!" Luna cried desperately, and tried to grab hold of Beetroot's hands, but they were moving too randomly. One whacked her around the head and for a moment Beetroot was perfectly still, before jumping to his feet and running around, screaming "Bad elf!" at thrice the volume.

"Be quiet Beetroot, right now!" Luna commanded, jumping to her feet as well. Abruptly he went mute. "And stop moving."

Beetroot froze with his hands still in the air, eyes latched onto Luna. "Now, lower your arms," Luna said shakily, resisting the urge to rub at her bruised head, "and tell me _quietly_ why you think you're a bad elf."

"I… I…" Beetroot started, and then seemed to crumple, dropping onto the floor. "I _disobeyed._ " He said in a near whisper.

Before he could burst into sobs, or go into shock, Luna jumped in. "How exactly did you disobey, Beetroot? Tell me so I can help you."

"There is no helping me," he said with a stubborn, despairing air. "I am a bad elf. I am worse than a bad elf. I deserve… _clothes._ "

Every part of Luna wanted to reach out and hug the despairing creature. To her mind, Beetroot could not have done any wrong in disobeying the Malfoy's, and certainly not whilst the Death Eater's were in residence. But having known Dobby and Winky and Kippers and LaLa and Geoffrey in the Hogwarts kitchens, she knew that that would be exactly the wrong thing to do.

"That's not your choice to make," Luna said, reaching for the authoritative voice she used on the troublesome first year Ravenclaws and the occasional Hodwiggle. "I've been put in charge by the Malfoys, and that means I'm in charge of you. I'll decide if you deserve clothes. So if you want to avoid them, I'd highly suggest you explain yourself."

At that, Beetroot seemed to at last get control of himself. He sat up on his knobbly knees and straightened his tea towel a little - one of the sheep bleated at him. "Of course, ma'am, sorry, ma'am," he said. "I - I was told two weeks ago to bring a tea tray to - to Bellatrix Lestrange. And I don't know what I did but she… she cursed me and I was in so much pain and then she - she told me to _go back to the hole I crawled out of_. So I went and then I… I didn't come out, even when my mistress called."

Beetroot was still shaking slightly, and Luna gestured that he should drink some more water whilst she thought about it. "I'm certainly not going to give you clothes," she said firmly, and hid a smile when he slumped with relief, "because you were in danger and it's important that you stay alive to continue serving the Malfoys. And has it occurred to you that if the Mr or Mrs Malfoy wished to contradict Bellatrix Lestrange's order, they would have tried harder to find you?" She asked, and he shook his head slightly.

"These have been… Difficult times for us all," she said at last. "Crazy, awful times. But there is only the present and the future, so let's just be glad we're alive, right?"

Beetroot looked at her a little strange, and she tried to nod her head in way that conveyed certainty and power and grace. She suspected it didn't work, but decided not to worry about it. "Now, there's lots to do," she said, "so I'm going to make myself some lunch, and then can I give you some tasks to do?"

Easy, gentle tasks she thought to herself, looking at the fragile state of him. But he was already nodding vigorously, and began listing his areas of expertise, which far outweighed her own.

Suddenly, the task of fixing Malfoy Manor didn't seem quite as enormous.

* * *

By the next afternoon, Luna and Beetroot had settled into something of a working relationship. He was still terrified of leaving the kitchens, and she didn't really want him seeing the state of the house, lest he blame himself for abandoning his master and mistress. Instead, she brought many difficult objects for him to fix, and coaxed him into telling her a little of his history.

Beetroot was fairly new to the Malfoy's household, having been sold from the Greengrass's the year before. He understood that after Dobby had been freed - he said it with such a shudder of disapproval - another elf had been acquired, and had not met the most pleasant end. Rage boiled in her to hear Beetroot talk of it as though Crispy had most likely deserved death, but she forced herself to nod calmly. When she casually asked if the Greengrass's had other elves, he had stopped his work on repairing an antique clock. "Yes," he'd said at long last, and then he'd changed the subject.

Luna had left him to it shortly after, and only stopped in every few hours to exchange broken objects for fixed ones and to be plied with hearty and much appreciated snacks. The summer warmth was just started to fade from the first floor sitting room - the one with pretty floral wall paper and a thousand shards of glass embedded in it - when a new voice could be heard.

"Uh, hello? Anybody home?" A voice thrilled through the halls, and Luna jumped to her feet, wand in her hand. It didn't matter that she recognised the voice, her instinct for danger was unchanged. And since that time - well. She didn't think about that anymore.

"Harry!" She called, edging onto the landing. "What did the knocker of Ravenclaw ask us?"

"Uh, something about a circle?" He called back, which she supposed was close enough. She ran down the stairs and barrelled into him, hugging him properly for the first time since the battle. She had thought he was _dead_. She was owed a hug or two.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled, and she suspected that she wasn't the only person ambushing him from time to time. She let him go and looked him over, noting the red eyes, exhaustion and awful odour that spoke of too many days spent mourning lost friends. A pang went through her heart when she thought of Colin Creevey. They hadn't always got on, but when they did - he had been her friend, and he was gone somewhere she couldn't follow.

But she didn't want to cry - she had cried long enough, and by the looks of it, Harry had too. "What are you here for?" She asked, smiling at him. "And oh, be careful, I think you're standing on Rupert's finger."

"Richard," a statue groaned, as Harry quickly hopped to the side, "Richard the Fine, you low-blooded swine."

Luna rolled her eyes. "Don't mind them," she said, "they're all the same. True pure bloods. And their rhymes are awful - I think they were singing statues in another life." She led Harry through the hall, letting him take everything in, and down to the kitchens, where she could hear Beetroot was jangling pots around.

"I've brought a guest," she called, and immediately the sound ceased and Beetroot disappeared. She sighed in disappointment, but didn't comment. Harry looked at her for some explanation, but it would be rude to talk about someone when they could be listening, so she just smiled at him instead. "Tea?"

"I'd rather not, actually," he said, looking guilty, "I think I've had enough tea for a lifetime."

A contradiction in terms, she thought, but the sentiment made sense. She filled a glass with water for him and set the kettle to boil for herself. They chatted for a while, and he filled her in on what had happened since the Battle of Hogwarts, as it was now being called. A little uninspired, she thought, but she supposed it worked.

He had moved back to his godfather's house in London, and Hermione and Ron nominally lived with him, but they spent a lot of the time at the Burrow. People were always coming and going, he said, and never giving him any peace, but he seemed resigned to being quizzed on his views for every little matter. "I'm not sure what to tell them," he admitted at one point. "People deserve the truth about you-know-who, but the truth… I'm not sure if I'm more worried because it's dangerous information, or because it's so unbelievable that they'll call me a liar." Personally Luna thought that you should always tell people the truth, whether they believed you or not, but Harry didn't seem to buy that argument. A lot of people were staying at Hogwarts, he hinted, but she quickly said that she didn't want to return there for a long while. And it was true… Hogwarts wasn't home the way it used to be, not any more.

"So, you never did tell me what you were here for," she said at last, though she couldn't help but feel she knew, and Harry flushed.

"Well, I wanted to check on you. That was a nasty head wound," he offered.

"Ah, it was nothing. Fixed in a moment," she lied, well, sort of. She was sure it had only taken a moment to fix, but the after effects were… unpleasant. And continuing.

"Still, I'm glad you got it looked at. And I'm well, concerned, I mean we all are. About you being here in this big house by yourself. I mean, Luna, look at the state of it - it's a mess!" He stretched out his hand as if to indicate the kitchen, which was of course spotless, and dropped it when he saw the point failed.

"My own home is a mess too," she said lightly, "I got a letter from my dad. He wants to fix it up before I come home." She had received the short note the day before. How bad, she wondered, had the explosion been? Her father normally took several days to move his unwashed cups to the sink, never mind rebuild a house. She shook her head in frustration… She wouldn't think about the letter.

"We could - I mean, you're welcome at my place. There's lots of room, really, it would be no trouble." Harry looked hopefully at her, one hand fiddling with the cuff of the other.

Luna smiled sadly. She knew he meant well, but… "I'm wanted here, Harry, I have a job to do. I'm not wanted in London."

"Luna, you are wanted -" He said, looking a little desperate. "You are. I didn't mean it to sound like you'd be - a spare part, or…"

A spare part. She had been called worse things in her life, but they hadn't been true. But she was, she supposed, a spare part to Harry and the rest. A useful backup to take with you, if anything else failed, but not really needed. Tears stung at her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away.

"I can't go to London with you, or Hogwarts, or home," she said, firmly. "I'm staying here. You're my friend, Harry, you are, but - this is my choice. And - and I know you wouldn't have come to check on me so quickly if I wasn't living in Malfoy Manor."

He did her the justice of not denying it. She reached out to take his hands, stopping them from twitching, and he squeezed them. "But Luna… After everything that happened here…"

It was funny how many euphemisms people came up with. But then, Harry didn't know what _everything_ meant. Only a few people knew, and for now that was how she wanted it. A flash of silver eyes and blond hair in her mind reminded her of how private she wanted to keep this.

"I want to -"

"No, Harry," she said, her voice rising into song. "You have to trust me on this. I know this is your enemy's home, but I've already decided. If anyone deserves to choose what happens to this place, it's me."

Harry looked a little overwhelmed at the whole thing, and nodded along with her. "Okay," he relented. "But you'll floo me if you need anything, right? Or owl?"

She agreed easily, though she doubted Harry and Ron would be the best at cleaning. Though perhaps they should not be underestimated - perhaps underneath it all lay hearts yearning to brandish a feather duster and a mop. "I'll see you soon," she promised. Soon was an elastic thing, after all.

They talked a little more about plans, but it was different now, hardened. She walked him to the Floo, and he gave her one last hesitant look. Who was waiting on the other end of the fireplace, she wondered, expecting to see her blonde head trooping after his?

"Good bye, Harry," she said, her voice a dreamy song. In a rush of green flames, he was gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry this is far later than promised, but I hope you like it! We'll be seeing Draco a** **gain shortly - and getting into the plot proper. Till then, wish me luck with my German exam!**

 **Shameless plugging: I have a rather weird, multi-layered fic involving Harry, Ginny and the Chamber of Slytherin that I'm also working on… feel free to take a look, if that tickles your taste buds.**


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